I’ve talked briefly about the fact that during my divorce, I began to suffer from the occasional panic attack.  At the time, it came from a feeling of being burdened by responsibility when I was in no position to be responsible for much at all.  It was hard enough to run my business and wake up every morning – anything else was impossible.

Two years later, I still get affected by the occasional anxiety attack.  Usually it’s very minor, but sometimes it’s a full-blown onslaught of anxiety that has me deep breathing in the fetal position under my desk.  Some of my triggers are a loss of control, a feeling of helplessness, or even a furiously overworking mind developing hypothetical scenario after scenario that lead to me being unhappy and miserable.  Over time, I’ve learned to control these attacks completely, and I thought I would share my tactics with you.

Not all of these will work for everyone and many of them won’t work for you, but if you are suffering from a panic attack, I’d suggest pulling up this post and trying each activity on the list until you feel better.  Trust me, I’m a doctor*.

• Take an anti-anxiety drug.  I take Klonopin, and I find it works well because it makes me fall asleep almost immediately, especially if I take it rectally.  Just as long as I remove it from the bottle first.
• Punch a nun.  The relaxation that is involved with doing something really terrible to a nice lady who loves Jesus cannot be found in any other way.
• Breathe deeply.  This is especially effective if you’re inhaling from a bong or hookah, or if you happen to be underwater.
• Distract yourself.  Pick any random Youtube video and read the comments. The sense of despair that will be derived from your resulting lack of faith in humanity will help shift that anxiety to something more suicidal, which, while not an improvement, is at least different.
• Rationalize your anxiety away.  I find that telling myself, “Adam, you’re being stupid. You can’t control it and all you’re doing is making it worse. Relax and look at this logically” helps immensely in reducing anxiety, especially if I simultaneously slam my head into the wall repeatedly until I achieve unconsciousness.
• Punch a ninja. Ninja cannot be found, so the effort you put into finding one to punch will take all of your energy and concentration, and you’ll be anxiety-free in no time. Unless your panic attack was triggered by the fear of not finding a ninja, in which case, don’t do this.
• Invent a time machine, go back in time, and slap yourself in the face before you start to get anxious. This works every time.
• Embrace the anxiety. Why not just treat it like a mondo gnarly wave that you’re about to ride, brosef? (I assume that’s how the lingo works, having never surfed anything in my entire life.) Make it a game – see how many times you have trouble catching your breath and how many times the room darkens, and give yourself a prize if you beat the score from the last panic attack! Personally, I prefer to get in my car when my anxiety is building and drive really fast at night with the lights off, then just let it rip.
• Eat bacon.  This doesn’t really help with anxiety. I just think everybody needs to eat more bacon.
• Realize that you’re not in control of anything.  Anxiety can be escalated by the thought that something is going to happen or is happening that you cannot control. By realizing that any control is an illusion, that you actually have no control over anything, and that a meteor could crash from space right on your head and kill you right now and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, you-ohhhhh boy. We’re all doomed. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I can’t breathe. Never mind. Forget this one.
• Go for a walk.  By exercising and increasing your blood flow, your body will do something something that will make you feel happier and better by something something – I don’t know, I’m not your health teacher. I assume it’s just magic.
• Write a post that gives fake advice about preventing panic attacks. Or, a really bad poem about it might work, too. But not haiku. Never haiku.

Good luck with your anxiety, and remember that it will be okay.  Life will be fine and you will be okay, even if you don’t get that job and your dog doesn’t come home and your mom is still mad at you and nobody will love you and you’ll die soon and the world could end at any moment and we’re going to run out of fossil fuels and you’ll always be alone and africanized bees might kill you and you might get bird flu and they might stop making Coke Zero and everybody is looking at you and you shouldn’t have cut your hair that short and you had a booger in your nose all day and you forgot to take your birth control and that’s a gray hair and it’s thundering outside and nobody will remember you when you die and did you just rip your pants and you just sent that private email to everyone by accident and you might screw up at that presentation tomorrow and you will have to live in your car if you can’t pay your bills and it happens to everyone and that car almost hit you on the interstate and life is bleak and there’s no point to anything and it’s all too hard and all of your friends are probably talking about you behind your back and oh God I need to go lay down under my desk.

Need more expert advice from Avitable?

• How to talk dirty
• How to get hired for any job
• How to write well and get published
• How to be funny
• How to throw an awesome party
• How to wish someone a happy birthday

*of jurisprudence

Back in April, I was given the opportunity, for one day, to lecture all three sections of “ENC 1102: Composition II, Research on Writers, Writing, & Discourse” at the University of Central Florida here in Orlando.

The professor, Nikki Stack, is a friend of mine from high school, and when she invited me to be a guest lecturer, I was thrilled.  Being a professor is a dream of mine, and getting to live that out for a day was a fantastic experience.

Me with UCF Professor Stack

I had an hour to fill and I decided to talk about writing and the varying roles it plays in my professional work, in writing humor, and in writing for stand-up.  After learning how to use PowerPoint (a program I never thought I’d have to use in any way), I wrote a lecture centered around 19 slides, covering everything from SEO and persuasive writing techniques to comedy and why Twitter is brilliant for writing exercises.  Starting off with my childhood, I gave a brief bio that explained my decision not to practice law and why nobody should be a lawyer, ever.  I discussed why and how I started my business, and explored my reasons for going into comedy. And, as can be expected, I pushed envelopes and crossed lines.

Each class started with this disclaimer from Professor Stack:  ”Today, we have a guest lecture from an old friend of mine, Dr. Adam Avitable.  He’s a lawyer, a CEO, a well-known blogger and humorist, and a stand-up comedian.  He will be talking about writing and how it applies to his life.  Since he is a comedian, there will be profanity and shocking content, but you are all adults and should be able to handle it.  If not, you may want to leave now.  And may the Lord have mercy on your souls.”  That last line may have been implied, not explicit, now that I think of it.

Not all of the presentation was profane and obscene. There were normal slides that examined the persuasive writing I have to do when acting in a sales capacity for my business, although, I did tell the class how to use those same manipulative techniques to get their way very easily.  For example, if you want your friends to hang out with you, don’t ask “Do you want to hang out?” or “Who wants to hang out?” – it’s too easy to say no to those requests.  Instead, just say “Go out with me tonight?”  It’s a demand that’s phrased like a question, and people are more likely to agree without realizing that you’re commanding them, not asking. Try it next time you want something and you’ll be amazed how much better it works. This was some serious wisdom I was imparting here!

Even though my very nature is to be persuasive and manipulative (something I rebel against every day, as I try to be honest and forthright instead of underhandedly getting my way), I was much more interested in talking about humor.  I felt like it was an environment that was rife for exploration and discussion.  Unfortunately, Professor Stack felt that an in-depth analysis was too advanced for the class, so I kept it simple.

In order to punctuate the final bullet, the next slide I showed had nothing but the word “BONERS” in large print on it, accompanied by my repeated use of the word, loudly and firmly, until everyone in the class either looked embarrassed or was laughing.  ”Boners is a funny word, by default.  Nobody can say the word boners and not have some reaction. Just think about the word – boners, boners, boners.” And then I illustrated all of the points in that slide with a mini fake quiz.

I explained how the incorrect grammar, punctuation, and capitalization actually helped to provide emphasis where it was needed and to paint an explicit picture in their heads, and how the answer went somewhere they didn’t expect.  It was a simple example, but as I revealed each part of the slide, I was rewarded with a good laugh from every class.

Each class was surprisingly attentive and seemingly interested in what I was presenting. Most of them were in their late teens, and I would like to think they got some entertainment out of someone like me being blunt, using frank language, and having no shame. I do think that I may have scarred a few of them for life, though, when I talked about realizing my dream of becoming an underwear model . . .

In the end, I emphasized the importance of writing in everyday life and told them, “Fuck math. That’s what calculators are for. You need to know how to write.  I wouldn’t hire someone with a typo on a resume or cover letter even if the job didn’t involve writing in any way.  Being a good writer will open a lot of doors.  But only figuratively.  You actually need hands or really awesome toes to open doors literally.”

There was something immensely satisfying about taking the clusterfuck that is the last 35 years of my life and wringing any type of wisdom or intelligent discourse out of it. While I felt awkward talking about myself in that capacity, the response and interest from each class, including the relevant questions they asked afterwards, demonstrated that what I’ve done in my life so far has some modicum of instructive or motivational value.

I would love to be a professor.  I’d love to teach an entire course on humor in writing, from Shakespeare to MAD Magazine to Douglas Adams to Jenny the Bloggess.  It’s not the lifestyle that drives me, and it’s not the abundance of young, highly attractive, libidinous women with daddy issues. It’s that feeling that your life and the lessons you’ve learned are worth something to someone else – someone unrelated to you, and someone who can learn and benefit from those lessons and pass those lessons onto others. It’s about as close as we get to being eternal, and that appeals to me in a way that I think is surprising to absolutely nobody.

Okay, I’m not being completely honest here. It’s actually the abundance of young, highly attractive, libidinous women.  I mean, c’mon.

BONERS!

I pride myself on being the type of friend who always remembers the birthdays of my friends and family. When I was younger, I kept everyone’s birthday written in a little black book and would call everyone to wish them a happy birthday. As I got older, I had a Palm Pilot, and then used Outlook Calendar. It was (and is) important to me to show my friends that I care about them enough to remember their birthdays.

Thanks to Facebook, all of the effort that would normally go into being a good friend and remembering birthdays is gone. Every single day of the year, I have notifications of the birthdays of my friends and of the random people who I’ve added on Facebook, and everyone’s wall is littered with generic birthday greetings that show absolutely zero effort, zero sentiment, and, as a result, mean absolutely nothing.

Over the last two years, I’ve developed a series of Facebook birthday wishes that will stand out, make someone laugh, and show that your friend means more to you than a boring stupid “Happy birthday!”  Recently, I saw that someone had stolen one of the greetings I came up with and used it as his own, so I decided that maybe I should share them with the world to help each of you become proficient in wishing your Facebook friends happy birthday without being trite or without blending into the crowd.

Below you will find the top seven birthday wishes that you could possibly wish any friend or family member.  These are birthday wishes that can be posted to your friends’ Facebook walls, emailed to them, or printed out and handed to them in an archaic style that we used to call “birthday cards” back in my day.  In order to make it easier for you to be an awesome, bad-ass Facebook friend, I made graphics for each birthday wish that you can just link to on their wall.  It still doesn’t require much effort, but at least you’re not a loser anymore!

Message:  Here’s to a fantastic birthday!  May it be filled with family, friends, booze, and lots of awesome boners.

Perfect for:  Single friends, newly married friends, young relatives.  Male or female – everyone can enjoy awesome boners.

Link for Facebook:  http://bit.ly/JhOYgG

Message:  Good luck with celebrating your inexorable march towards your inevitable grave.  Have some more cake.

Perfect for:  Grandma or grandpa, fat friends, anybody in a coma, small children.

Link for Facebook: http://bit.ly/JhPkDX

Message:  Happy something something . . . ooh, shiny!

Perfect for:  Dogs, anyone under the age of 25, Tea Party Republicans

Link for Facebook:  http://bit.ly/JhPxqD

Message:  Congratulations to you for celebrating today, the anniversary of the day that you emerged from your mother’s vagina.

Perfect for:  Siblings, your spouse, acquaintances, anyone who wasn’t born by Caesarean.

Link for Facebook:  http://bit.ly/JhPFXk

Message:  How do you say “Happy Birthday” in I don’t give a shit?

Perfect for:  Foreign pen pals, cousins three times removed, mom and dad, your priest or rabbi

Link for Facebook:  http://bit.ly/JhQ2Rq

Message:  Here’s to a birthday filled with fun and happiness and free from interruptions by a sneak attack from a rival clan of ninja assassins.

Perfect for:  Ninjas.  Duh.

Link for Facebook:  http://bit.ly/JhQoI3

Message:  Leave me a piece of cake or you will never see your child again.

Perfect for:  People with children, people with pets, aunts and uncles, the gays.

Link for Facebook:  http://bit.ly/JhQyPo

And there you have it! With these Facebook birthday graphics, you too can stand out from the crowd of lazy, ineffectual friends who have the creativity of a writer from Two And A Half Men. Go off, spread birthday cheer, and be awesome!

Need more expert advice from Avitable?

• How to talk dirty
• How to get hired for any job
• How to write well and get published
• How to be funny
• How to throw an awesome party

I laid, naked, on the tile floor of my bathroom, alternating between shivering and sweating, dry-heaving and sobbing while my entire body twitched involuntarily.  This had been going on for hours, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

My Friday night started off relatively normal, if having six people under the age of 25 drunk and swimming in your pool is normal.  I was not in a party mood, so I nursed one drink for a few hours and hung out in the pool, dodging the occasional mosquito and ignoring the fact that the pool was just a shade too cool to actually be in it at night.

Almost two bottles of tequila were consumed.  Beers were shotgunned and the night was dotted with the glow of cigarettes.  I floated in the pool, thinking about how hungover everyone was going to be.  I reveled in my plans to go to bed soon, wake up early Saturday morning, and clean my garage.

As I toweled off and got ready to go to bed, a friend approached me.  ”I heard that you were interested in some baked goods,” she said.  ”Here – take a cookie.  They’re really strong, though.  I only ate one and I was knocked out for a day.”

Let me digress for a second.  When I was 32, I decided to let loose of control a little and try a few new things.  I smoked my first cigarette, I had alcohol for the first time since I was 19, and I smoked weed for the first time.  Now, at 35, I might drink once or twice a week, smoke a cigarette every now and then when I’m out drinking, and I’ll smoke weed maybe once a month or less.  I’m not a habitual consumer of anything that’s unhealthy, except mayonnaise and Oreos.  No, not together.

I looked at the tiny, petite girl and thought “Oh, if it knocked her out like that, this will be perfect for someone my size.  I’ll eat this cookie, and it will just help me sleep great tonight and I’ll wake up ready to clean my garage!”  So she handed me a cookie the size of a manhole cover (may be an exaggeration) and I ate the entire thing.

An hour later, the guests were gone.  It was 1 AM and I was laying in bed, playing a game of Scramble when the cookie kicked in.  The letters in my game flipped and became their mirror images.  My hands looked like they were two-dimensional, as drawn in a comic book, holding my phone.  The music I had playing slowed down until it was distorted beyond recognition.  I began to see waves of colors on the edge of my vision.

Extreme nausea drove me from my bed.  I crawled to the bathroom and propped myself up near the toilet.  For what felt like hours, I dry-heaved, tears streaming down my cheeks.  My body twitched uncontrollably and sweat poured from my face.  The paranoia began to grow.  What if this never stopped?  Why was I naked? Why didn’t anyone notice I was in pain?  What if I died?  Was I going to die?  What if nobody noticed I died? Why was I naked?  What would they say at my funeral?  Would everybody laugh? Why is everyone laughing at me? Why was I naked?

I used the trembling remains of my willpower and what I assume to be latent, untapped telekinetic powers to make my phone float from my bedside table to my porcelain-hugging home.  It didn’t work, though, which may have been a good thing.  The list of names I would have called was long, including my mom, my best friend, my girlfriend, and my roommate, but most importantly, starting with 911.  I wanted people in white coats with Indian accents to tell me I was not going to die, that I was going to be okay, that I had superpowers as a result of eating the cookie.  But then, right there, amid the hallucinating, the tweaking, and the paranoia, coherence and reason spoke up:  ”I can’t call 911, I don’t have health insurance.”  And that’s when I decided that I was going to make it through the night all on my own while also wondering how many people have actually died because they don’t want to incur the cost of calling 911.

Two days later, and I’m still recovering.  The saddest part of the entire experience is that even the thought of eating a cookie makes me nauseous – how can this be possible when I love cookies with all of my heart and stomach and the cockles of my heart and even the sub-cockles area?  I’m going to have to slowly re-introduce different varieties of cookies into my life until I’m able to look at a Tupperware filled with giant homemade chocolate chip cookies without running for the porcelain.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is telling people that I somehow managed to overdose on marijuana.  It’s hard to get any sympathy for what was literally the worst night of my entire life when people can’t stop laughing long enough to actually feel bad for me.

And to preemptively answer any questions:

Yes, I am sure it was just weed.  No, I did not know that edibles are more potent.  No, I didn’t realize that one cookie has multiple doses.  Yes, I know I’m a lightweight.  Yes, my vagina is fine, thank you for asking.  Yes, you can actually overdose on weed and it’s more common than anyone realizes.  No, I don’t mind that you’re laughing at me so hard that you peed yourself a little.  And, finally, yes, this really happened, and yes I know it’s ridiculous, and no, I can’t believe it either.

With the movies “The Avengers” and “The Dark Knight Rises” both coming into theaters in the upcoming weeks/months, I’ve seen a lot of unnecessary and troubling arguing going on in the geeky fanboy world.  One camp is pro-Avengers and one camp is pro-Batman, to the detriment of the other.  Why can’t you enjoy both and want both to succeed and make lots of money and be good movies?  Why does one have to be better than the other?

It’s petty and stupid and obnoxious.  And it prompted me to write this post.  I’m not going to be like that.  You can have your shitty favorites and your weird opinions, and I’ll still like you.  You see . . .

I’ll still be your friend, even if/when you:

• Think “The Wire” is better than “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”;
• Don’t dip your fries in mayonnaise;
• Choose Team Edward;
• Enjoyed “Fifty Shades of Grey”;
• Consider Macs to be superior computers;
• Exercise;
• Vote Republican;
• Disparage “Jersey Shore”;
• Hate chocolate;
• Find Angelina Jolie attractive;
• Have an AOL email address;
• Prefer Pepsi to Coke;
• Speak Klingon instead of Shyriiwook;
• Choose vegetarianism as a life choice;
• Watch “Big Bang Theory”;
• Don’t watch “Community”;
• Think Marvel is better than DC or that any character is better than Superman;
• Dislike Ke$ha;
• Recycle;
• Find Dane Cook or Jeff Dunham to be funny;
• Love your Android;
• Have never seen “Veronica Mars” or “Firefly”;
• Despise Los Angeles;
• Type in textspeak, even in emails or IMs;
• Wear Crocs;
• Drive under the speed limit;
• Join the ranks of people who bitch that “SNL just isn’t as funny as it used to be”;
• Won’t make a Facebook account;
• Shop at Walmart;
• Choose In-N-Out over other fast food;
• Like Dan Brown’s books;
• Think men should be hairless;
• Don’t own a microwave;
• Would rather watch Star Wars: Episodes I-III instead of IV-VI;
• Consider any movie to be superior to the book upon which it was based;
• Still have a VCR and an answering machine;
• Watch “American Idol” or “The Voice” or “America’s Got Talent” or anything else like that;
• Drive a hybrid;
• Root for a sports team of any type;
• Don’t eat bacon;
• Refrain from posting self-portraits of yourself on Instagram and Facebook regularly;
• Prefer blondes or brunettes to redheads;
• Like Jay Leno;
• Would rather cook a meal at home than go out to a nice restaurant;
• Call TV the “idiot box”;
• Watch Fox News; or
• Comment on posts through Facebook or on Twitter instead of on the actual post.

What about you?  What will you forgive your friends for doing?

I would like to present an excerpt from my upcoming book “Twenty-eight Shades of Chartreuse” for your review.  To provide you with some context, this scene finds your protagonist, Woody Symbolic, at the mercies of the indomitable Gertrude Chartreuse.

With my apologies to E.L. James, author of the “Fifty Shades of Grey” tril- nah, fuck that.  No apologies whatsoever.

Pouting, I stare longingly at the dark and foreboding beach, waves crashing darkly as the darkness overwhelms me with its inky blackness.  ”Mr. Symbolic,” she announces quietly, her voice taut with displeasure and something else that borders on passion mixed with angry lust.

“Yes, Miss Chartreuse?” I ask questioningly, turning, hesitantly, to face her, knowing that just the sight of her would cause my blood to rush and my pulse to race.  Gertrude Chartreuse stands facing me, wearing a white blouse from Lane Bryant that fits snugly across her expansive, broad torso, a silver pin-striped jacket that costs more than my entire wardrobe, and a severe dark blue skirt that tapers at her knees.

“Stop that,” she commands in an authoritative voice.

“Stop what?” I question askingly, even though I know the answer.

“Stop picking your nose.  You know what that does to me.”  I’d rather pick your nose myself, she said to me only two weeks earlier, when we first met.  I was delivering a package to Chartreuse Industries when I literally tripped over my untied shoelaces and fell into Gertrude’s strong, willful grasp.

Feeling impulsively rebellious, I arch my finger towards my nose and slide it inside gently, watching her eyes widen and hearing her take a sharp breath.  ”Get over here, Mr. Symbolic,” she demands commandingly.  ”It’s time for your punishment.”

Yes! No! Maybe! Inside, my subconscious begins to pummel me for being so indecisive.  He begins to fight with my inner god, who is dancing and celebrating at another sacrifice being made on the altar of my utter humiliation.  I ignore them both and start moving, slowly, towards this insatiable mountain of a woman, flashing back to our first open, honest, forthright exchange . . .

From:  Gertrude Chartreuse
Subject:  Summary of my email
Date:  June 3 2011 1:43 PM
To:  Woody Symbolic

I have been thinking about you all day.  Can I buy you a yacht?

Gertrude Chartreuse
CEO, Chartreuse Industries

***********

From:  Woody Symbolic
Subject:  I like to change the subjects every time I email because I don’t really understand how email works
Date:  June 3 2011  1:44 PM
To:  Gertrude Chartreuse

Jeez, that seems mighty rude of you.  Fuck yes you can!  Jeez.  Fuck.  Jeezfuck.

Woowoo

***********

From:  Gertrude Chartreuse
Subject:  Okay, I’ll have my assistant
Date:  June 3 2011 1:46 PM
To:  Woody Symbolic

take care of it.

Gertrude Chartreuse
CEO, Chartreuse Industries

It was at that moment that I knew, completely and entirely surely, with only a lot of doubts and hesitation, that I would do anything for that beautiful handsome woman as long as she kept buying me things.  And anything was about to happen.

Gertrude grabs me and holds me flush against her body.  Suddenly her hand is gripping my head as she kisses me long, hard, and passionately, her tongue in my mouth, which is apparently what happens during long, hard passionate kisses.  She stares at me, her one good eye dark and mysterious yet filled with a spark of mischief and good humor.  Her other eye looks in the opposite direction, so I don’t know what it is filled with.

“Oh, Miss Chartreuse,” I breathe breathlessly.  Her answer takes form in her actions, clasping her hands tightly on either side of my head and forcing it down her broad, rippling chest and her powerful, barrel-like stomach, until I face that spot that clothes and covers the most wonderful of all spots . . . her sex.

With a flick of her wrist, she pulls me to my feet.  ”Take your clothes off and lay on the bed,” she growls with passion, her eye flashing with heat and desire.

I comply, eagerly, yet hesitant of the pain that may come.  Do I trust Gertrude, with her newly waxed mustache and lumberjack arms, to stop before she hurts me?  Before she bruises me and makes me black and blue with bruises?  My subconscious is too busy watching last night’s Mad Men to do anything, and my inner god is just jumping around yelling “Jeezfuck”, so I go for it.

Naked, laying on the bed, I feel the room shake as Gertrude approaches.  With the speed of a really fast rhinoceros, she’s upon me, first tying my hands to the bedposts, then my feet. I watch as she eases out of her clothes like someone shucking a really large ear of corn. Moaning, I revel in the sensation of the sound of a slightly squishy thud as her panties fall to the ground

Her bosom heaving, Gertrude pulls out a foil packet from behind her back, smiling at me with her mouth.  I hear the foil crinkle in that packet, and then she’s ready, holding it in her hand.  She groans as she sits astride me, kneeling over me, with her sex hovering over my sex.

“Ready?” she asks breathingly.

“Yes,” I whisper quietly, and Gertrude eases herself onto me, slowly, fantastically slowly, until I am filling her sex with my sex.  I moan because the sensation of the merging of sexes causes me to experience a pleasurable feeling.

As she moves up slowly and then down slowly, and then up slowly again, Gertrude reveals the contents of the foil package.  ”Eat,” she whispers passionately, “I need you to eat.”  She holds the newly unwrapped Ding Dong towards my mouth and thrusts it inside.  ”Eat!”

For the rest of the erotic adventures of Woody Symbolic and Gertrude Chartreuse, you can purchase the amazing, compelling, award-winning “Twenty-eight Shades of Chartreuse” for only $29.99 in places where books like this are sold.  So, like, Hot Topic, Dillard’s, and the BlogHer conference?

When Ree sent me an advance copy of her newest book, “The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Food From My Frontier”, about two months ago, I had big plans.  I was going to pick a recipe and attempt to make it, on video, and show the disastrous results.  But, life got in the way and before I knew it, her book was already out on shelves. Plus, the only cooking utensils I own are to-go menus and my phone.  And a microwave, if that counts.  So I decided that instead of making the recipes, I would just interview Ree instead.  And being the gracious person that she is, she also agreed to give away signed copies of her books plus a cool extra!  You can find more details about the giveaway after the interview.

I love redheads. They are, by far, my favorite of the Lord’s children. Unfortunately, they’re the Lord Satan’s children. They say that all redheads are crazy. And by “they”, I mean me. A little crazy is good, but sometimes a redhead is too far along the GCS or ginger craziness spectrum, and it gets frightening. Where do you fit along this scale, and how does your crazy manifest itself?

Ree: I am definitely crazy, but not in any fun, fiery redheaded ways. I don’t have a temper, I’m not mysterious or unpredictable, and I’m not demanding or moody or prone to histrionics.

What I am is addicted to Real Housewives and American Chopper, afraid of the phone, content never to leave my house if I don’t have to, and incapable of listening to people eating cereal.

I don’t know – the woman who sat on the floor of a limo and showed that she could lift her foot above her head seems like she can be a fun crazy redhead!

Mayonnaise is one of my four food groups. I have tried Hellman’s Olive Oil Mayonnaise, normal Hellman’s, Duke’s, and have yet to come across the world’s best mayonnaise. Do you make yours from scratch? If so, how? If not, what’s the brand that you prefer? Also, do you judge me for sometimes licking the spoon after scooping mayonnaise onto my plate to dip chicken tenders in?

Ree: You are my brother in mayo. I love it more than most things, and I love a lot of things. I have made my own mayonnaise, but on a daily basis, I passionately reach for Hellman’s. It is head-and-shoulders above any other storebought brand (though I don’t have access to Duke’s) and it completes me. I dip my fries in mayo, then ketchup. It’s important that it be done in that order.

I sometimes swirl the ketchup and mayonnaise together into what Will Ferrell calls “fancy sauce” in Step Brothers, but there’s nothing better than the undiluted taste of mayonnaise on almost any food.

Ree, your book is full of great, easy-to-follow recipes. Since I received it, I’ve been meaning to try out one of the recipes, but I keep getting distracted on my way to the grocery store and end up eating bar food and having a liquid dinner. So I’ve decided to hire a Peruvian housekeeper named Marta who will be preparing all my meals for me, and probably cutting them up and feeding them to me. Which recipe would you suggest we try first?

Ree: I feel a strong urging in my spirit that you would love—and that Marta could easily feed you—my Rigatoni and Meatballs. The meatballs can be easily halved or quartered, and the rigatoni can easily be speared with a fork. And you will have leftover meatballs, which you can heat up the next day, then violently smash between two pieces of bread for a meatball sandwich. And the next day, you can slice the remaining leftover meatballs and lay them on top of a frozen cheese pizza before baking. Meatball pizza is one of the true joys in life.

Plus, there is no end to the immature jokes I can make about balls! You’re a genius.

What’s the worst meal you’ve ever made and how badly did you screw it up? Would you make it again?

Ree: In my twenties, I was cooking a delicious vegetarian pasta sauce that involved shredded carrots, onions, diced tomatoes, and one essential ingredient: white wine. I found I was out of wine, so I used beer instead. It did not work. I still have nightmares about the final result.

I think that “delicious” and “vegetarian” are mutually exclusive words. But you know what’s not mutually exclusive? Me and porn! How’s that for a segue?

I’m not a huge, huge fan of porn, but when I watch it, I like amateur porn. However, your photography of your food is very professional and it’s my favorite kind of food porn. I’m very conflicted. Do you have any advice?

Ree: Could you repeat the question?
Okay, never mind…I’ll try to plow through it.
On the food porn front: I’m glad you like my food photos. They have come a long way. The photos in my early food posts can only be described as grody. But I’ve improved over time. My style of food photography is to get way up in the food’s business, and to take photos from the perspective of the person doing the cooking (as opposed to someone watching someone doing the cooking. Wait…what?) I just cook, picking up my camera and snapping as I go. So I think it gives people the sense that they’re there doing the cooking, too.

I feel funny in my pants. All that plowing and getting up in their business . . . which brings me to my next question.

What would you suggest is the best technique for cooking bacon naked, so as not to have any unfortunate grease burns?

Ree: Hold on. I need to get a mental picture of this.
Okay, I’m back. And I have some advice: Please don’t cook bacon naked.

Well, that’s no fun – who wants to put on clothes to cook? Isn’t the whole benefit of cooking at home that it’s something that you can do naked? I still can’t go to the McDonald’s in Altamonte Springs after Nude Drive-throughGate 2010.

When I finally make it over to the ranch to visit, what meal can I look forward to eating? What is a favorite of your boys that you make more frequently than others?

Ree: I’m looking forward to your visit, and I will greet you with an authentic country feast of chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and gravy. It will make your heart both sing and palpitate.

That sounds fantastic. As long as there’s lots of mayo on the side! And now, for a bonus question!

Who’s your favorite male blogger on the Internet today?

Ree: Adam A-VIT-able. I was intrigued with his funny and provocative writing, but meeting him in person and discovering that he was considerate, kind, and soft-spoken cinched it for me.
(By the way, please don’t post that he’s considerate, kind, and soft-spoken in person. He doesn’t really want that information getting out.)

And now I know what kind of crazy redhead you are – the kind who can’t keep secrets and who ruin carefully constructed facades! Thank you for the interview, Ree!

And now for the giveaway! There are several ways you can enter, and each way gives you one chance to win:

1. Leave me a comment telling me your favorite meal to make or eat, and/or;
2. Share this post on Facebook and comment with the link, and/or;
3. Tweet this post and comment with the link, and/or;
4. Email me a photo of you, posing just like me in the photo in the beginning of the post!

On Tuesday, May 1st, I’ll draw names at random. Each of the FIVE winners will receive both of the following:

• A signed copy of Ree’s book “The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Food From My Frontier”,

• AND a Wusthof Classic Hollow Edge Nakiri 7-inch knife!

Good luck, and thanks again to Ree for taking time out of her schedule to answer my questions.  If you are a blogger who has written a book, I’d love to interview you as well! Contact me through my site for details.

Dick Clark, television producer and well-known host of shows such as “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve”, “Pyramid” and “American Bandstand”, died Wednesday at the age of 82. I sat down with the eponymous host for a posthumous interview:

Me:  Mr. Clark, thank you for taking the time to speak with me.

DC:  It’s my pleasure, young man.

Me:  It seems like you’ve been a presence on my television since I can remember, and I was sad to hear of your passing.

DC:  Oh, I won’t be gone long.  This Dick will rise again.

Me:  Did you just-?

DC:  This Dick took a stroke and kept on rockin’ hard.  Nothing can keep the best-known Dick in Hollywood from standing tall and throbbing with pride.

Me: Uhh- is the category “Things I Never Thought I’d Hear Dick Clark Say”?

DC:  You got moxie, kid.  This is one Dick who wants you to succeed.  This Dick wants you to feel his presence behind you as you move up in the world, pressing against you and pushing you to do better and better.

Me:  My head hurts.

DC:   Try some of my new pain reliever – Dick’s Rubbing Cream for Good Head.

Me:  No, I’ll be okay.

DC:  Okay, your loss.  This Dick likes to rub his head with this cream at least four or five times a day until it makes him ejaculate loudly with pleasure.

Me:  Really?  Who says that?  And why do you keep referring to yourself in the third person?

DC:  This Dick is only one out of many Dicks all struggling to expose themselves to the light and thrust themselves into the public eye

Me:  Wait – you’re saying that there are multiple Dick Clarks out there?

DC:  Yes.  We are legion and my fellow Dicks are underground, safely enclosed inside a giant plastic sack, waiting for the moment to penetrate the world forcefully.

Me:  So, you’re saying that there is a giant bag of Dicks out there just waiting to fuck us all?

DC:  Yes.  Let the countdown begin!

Me:  Now?  The Dicks are coming out now?

DC: 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .

Me:  Is there any protection against the Dicks?

DC:  7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . .

Me:  Are they scared of being slapped? Should I slap a Dick?  Whack it?  Submit to the Dick?

DC:  4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

Me:  Is Ryan Seacrest a Dick?

DC:  No, he’s an Asshole.

Me:  Oh.

DC: . . . 1 . . . FOR NOW, DICKS SO LONG . . . /salutes

Me:  Well, shit.

Enjoy this interview? Check out my other dead (mostly) celebrity (mostly) interviews (actually written by me!) in the sidebar –>

Last week I threw a party at my house, and instead of sending out invitations or using evites, I relied exclusively on Facebook‘s option to “Create an event”.   We’ve gone a long way from sending out personal invitations and the Miss Manners approach to RSVPs and party attendance.  It can be frustrating and complicated, but by following my simple steps, your party can be as amazing and epic as mine was!

1. Make an event that sounds exciting.  One month before the actual party, create an event on Facebook.  Since all of your friends get spammed on a regular basis by event after event, from stupid charities that aren’t actually events to out-of-state performances of their friends’ third-grade children, you have to make it sound exciting and compelling.  Some good titles you can use are as follows:

• Free iPad to Every Attendee!
• My Spouse’s Intervention – Please Help
• Meet Brad Pitt
• My Last Chance To See You Before I Die Of Eyeball Cancer
• I’ll Provide Sexual Gratification For All Who Attend

2. Invite the right people.  Using Facebook’s invite function, you can send out invitations to all of your Facebook friends, but don’t go crazy.  It’s important to only invite friends who will be engaging, social, and who will bring hot, slutty friends.  If you have friends who do not have a Facebook account, there is an easy solution.  People not on Facebook don’t count as real people and deserve to die sad, lonely deaths.

3. Don’t panic!  When your party is only one week away and nobody has responded to your event, it’s okay!  In today’s society, it’s common courtesy not to RSVP in any way to any event, and it’s normal if not a single person has the decency or respect to actually let you know that they’re attending.  Etiquette is for old people, dude.  Just relax and take a deep breath, then send out the invite to your secondary group of Facebook friends – the ones who will sit in cliques, talk quietly, and stare hostilely at the other cliques at the party.

4. Use psychological tactics to encourage the best attendance.  When your party is three days away and you still have no idea who’s coming, if they’re bringing anything or even if you’ll just be sitting alone by your pool crying, don’t worry.  Post a passive-aggressive message on the Facebook wall for your event.  Something like this should work:

“Hey guys – don’t forget about Friday’s party!  I’ve been spending a lot of money on food and drink, and would really like for you to be the people who benefit from it!  Let me know if you’re going to be able to make it, because if not, I might just donate all of this food to the shelter and go visit my grandmother in the hospital instead.  Nana doesn’t have long to live.  Hope to hear from you soon!”

Follow that up with a few posts on the Facebook walls for the most popular friends that you’ve invited.  A good technique can be to pretend like you’ve forgotten if they’re attending:

“Hey hot stuff, can’t wait to see you Friday!  I forgot – did you say you were going to be able to make it and bring a bottle of booze?  Let me know, k?  Sweet!”

5. Buy enough supplies.  By this point, let’s say you have 190 outstanding invitations.  A good rule of thumb is to assume a 50% attendance rate, so go out and buy food and drinks for 95 people.  At a typical party, each person will drink the equivalent of 14 drinks and eat the equivalent of 6 entrees, so, for example, if you were having a cookout, you would want to have 1,330 beers and 570 burgers.  Don’t forget mixers, soda, and snacks, as well.  60 cases of assorted soda, 14 gallons of juice, and 38 bags of different flavors of potato chips should be sufficient.

6. Get your final preparations ready.  On the day before your amazing, epic party is about to start, you may feel worried that nobody has responded to your wall posts or RSVPed in the positive or negative.  No reason to panic!  This is the point when you can start inviting the rest of your friends – the people who are loners and will just sit by themselves and text instead of interacting.  Invite the uggos and the sad sacks.  The wallflowers and the odoriferous.  The large and hairy.  In fact, just make the event public on Facebook and invite anyone who manages to see the post.  Follow this up with a series of posts on your wall hyping the party and encouraging people to visit.  Don’t be disheartened when only your mom and your uncle who lives in Massachusetts like your status.  It will be okay!

7. It’s time to party!  Your event may have stated that the start time for your party was 6 PM, but it’s important to know that nobody except your friend with halitosis and Aspergers who can only talk about Star Wars will show up before 9:30.  At the earliest. Don’t despair – leave him to watch the door and head down to the local homeless shelters. Pack as many hobos as you can into your car and bring them to your party – you can even tie them to the roof if you need.  The bums can act as placeholders for your partygoers until the 12 people who are actually your friends show up at midnight for fifteen minutes and then leave.  Plus, the homeless will actually appreciate the booze and will be plenty social, though they may only be social with their imaginary friends.  And I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone to cuddle with that night easily!

It may seem daunting, and it can be a lot of work, but throwing a successful bash using Facebook’s event system can be rewarding and socially illuminating at the same time! Don’t let the minor frustrations of the system and the sheer lack of decent manners among humanity keep you from putting on the best party you can!

Need more expert advice from Avitable?

• How to talk dirty
• How to get hired for any job
• How to write well and get published
• How to be funny